A surprise decorator intervention is freaking me out.

My life since last Friday morning has been like a reality TV show without the cameras. My friend Greg, a renowned interior designer, was going to "stop by" to show me a sheer blue curtain he wanted to give me for my bedroom. Yippee, because I can only afford to be his friend not his client.

Everything about Greg (the guy on the left with the blue curtain) is beautiful. He was blessed with the "decorator gene" and I wasn't. I am "decorator challenged" and I have never been good at asking for help with this. My style, as opposed to early antique, is "Early Aunt," as in furniture given to me by Aunt Mary, Aunt Eleanor, Aunt Linda and Aunt Yolie over the years.

Never one to take advantage of friends, I have occasionally gently asked Greg for suggestions to better accommodate my space and my kamikaze lifestyle which is ruled by five billion pieces of paper. This business is growing and so are my piles which I am sick of looking at by the end of the day.

Last Friday, Greg and two guys with drills appeared unexpectedly before I had a chance to shower. I was just expecting the curtain sample. Confused and trying to get ready to leave for work, I saw my furniture fly out my door, garbage bags being filled, piles of papers being moved and I heard myself gasping, "oooo," "oooo," "wait!" probably a million times. A closet guy even showed up.

Totally freaked out, I realized this was an intervention. How can anyone complain about being saved by a decorator? But seriously, I wasn't prepared, and people messing with your "stuff" is no light matter.

I know I should be grateful that my junk cabinet now features organized stemware but honestly I can't find my underwear and I have to make the train. They're coming back today. To be continued.